


The Gypsy on the Wilkinson

by BryceWrites



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Band of Gypsies, Daryl Dixon and Feelings, Daryl Dixon and original character feels, Daryl and Merle fighting, Daryl's dad is dead, Dixon in the Forest, Gen, Hunters & Hunting, Merle Being an Asshole, Murder, Murder Mystery, Original Character Death(s), Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Apocalypse, Pre-End of the World, Pre-Series, Pre-Zombie Apocalypse, Saving People Hunting Things, Self-Harm, Triggers, Walking in the Woods, gypsies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 06:59:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9167401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BryceWrites/pseuds/BryceWrites
Summary: Daryl goes out hunting and finds more than just a couple rabbits.





	

Hunting was my release. It was the only thing I could keep separate from Merle, the one thing he couldn’t ruin for me. He was up at the state pen, locked up on an armed B&E. I told him he was a stupid fucker. He was mad I wouldn’t come see him and it wasn’t that I wasn’t comin’, it was that I wasn’t bringin’ him somethin’ to bust himself out.

But he hadn’t ruined hunting for me.

My crossbow was strung up over my shoulder, bouncing against my back as I trudged through the forest. Usually I had it at the ready, in case I came across a den of rabbits or a possum. But today, half of the hunting was about being as far from that damn house as I could.

Pa been dead just two weeks and I still saw him in the goddamn house. Merle went into the pen the day after. I couldn’t stand the smell of his cologne still wafting through the house, or the whiskey stained chair in front of the TV, or the cigarette burns in the walls, where he’d carelessly stubbed out his smokes.

When I got to the top of Jackson Hill, I paused, looking out at the valley down below. There were only three houses I could see from here. The farther into the woods you got, the more scattered the houses were until you got to the swamp and then the houses stopped. I didn’t know why I paused at the view, I’d seen it a million times; nothing had changed about it.

A creek trickled to my right and I crossed it in a swallow spot, moving for the forest that got denser the farther in you went. I wouldn’t see another house for five miles, so I could wander until I didn’t want to no more. I pulled the bow off my shoulder, stringin’ it, placing a bolt in the track and locking it into place.

I raised it, feeling the need to shoot something down. I moved about as quietly as I could, looking out at the forest for any kind of movement, then searching the ground for tracks. I did this for ten or fifteen minutes.

A little movement from the underbrush caught my eye and I aimed quickly, pulling the trigger. The fox I shot for scampered off at a lazy pace. He paused to turn back to me and toss his head before heading for the cover of the woods.

I shook my head at the animal as I went to retrieve my arrow. I heard the river off to my right and angled for it. I was dying of thirst and knew I could fill my water bottle there. The trees got thicker the closer I got to the stream before they broke away from the ditch the river sat in. I scanned the river bank for any animals bigger than me. We had mountain lions in these hills and a lynx was spotted in the forest south of the house just last week.

I dropped down into the river, looking for a good spot to fill my bottle. I stood back up, taking a pull from the bottle and watching the tops of the banks. The last thing I needed was a mountain lion creepin’ in on me.

Something moved out of the corner of my eye, directing my attention to the left. A girl sat on a rock about two hundred yards down. If her posture was any indication, she hadn’t heard me fall into the ditch or fill my water bottle.

Her back was to me, and I could see cut off shorts on her tan legs and silver rings on her fingers. She had on a white blouse and there was a band wrapping around her head. She moved her leg to splash her foot in, kicking up some water.

I froze up, just watching her. She dipped her toes in again and smiled, letting the water reach up to her ankles. She leaned back on the rock, looking like she was enjoying life.

“Did you fill your water bottle?” She asked, lazily opening her eyes at me and looking at me upside down on the rock.

I was a little startled, but didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded my head a little.

She smiled. “Good, I’m glad. You looked a little parched.”

By the sound of her accent, she wasn’t from anywhere around her. She must have been from somewhere far north of Georgia.

“Do you know the name of this river?” She asked, still looking at me upside down. She was the picture perfect image of a hippy, the kind I’d always thought of anyway.

I glanced north, then down south. “Probably the Wilkinson.” I told her.

She smiled up at me again. “You’d be correct sir.”

“Why ya care the name? Ain’t never gonna see it again.” I told her.

She sat up on her rock and turned around, crossing her legs. “You should learn the name of all the friends you have.”

“You’re friends with a river?” I asked, wondering if she was maybe one of those hippies that took lots of drugs. She was startin’ to make me think of some of Merle’s friends.

She smiled and shook her head. “Everything has a name. Rivers, mountains, people. You always want to learn a person’s name when you want to be around them more, right? Why not mountains and rivers too?”

I paused a little, her logic making sense in my head. I knew the names of the rivers because I’d lived here my whole life and it was a point of referencing where I was so I wouldn’t get lost. Maybe she kept a mental list of places she’d visited that she wanted to go back to one day.

“You’re dirty, but you’re smart. Smart is better than clean. Do you want to come sit?” She asked, patting the rock besides her.

I had an intense feeling that she was like some serial killer and this was how I died. But that was stupid. She was a girl half my size. And her eyes didn’t show malice. I moved to sit on the rock, lowering myself onto it.

She smiled and I realized it wasn’t forced. She was thrilled to be alive and it showed on her face. “My name’s Layla Lochmine, with an ‘h’.” She said.

“Daryl Dixon, with a ‘y’.” I murmured, looking down the river.

“You a hunter, Mister Dixon?” She asked.

I nodded, wondering if she was going to go tree-hugging bullshit on me or not.

“Unlucky day?” She asked.

I shrugged. “Ain’t in the mind today.” I told her, wondering why I was.

“Did something happen?” Layla asked. A wisp of her brown hair came undone from the ribbon, floating in the gentle mid-afternoon breeze.

I wanted to tell her how I couldn’t stand to go back into that house. I was sure she’d think I was insane. “Not really. Just couldn’t take bein’ inside.”

She nodded, looking out down the river. “Cabin fever. Gets the best of us all.”

“You say that like you been cooped up.” I said, glancing at her.

She nodded a little, smiling. “I’m a gypsy. I’ll be cooped up the rest of my life.”

“S’ a gypsy?” I asked her, wondering if that was like a traveler.

Layla looked over at me and I noticed her brown eyes were damn gorgeous, like hot coffee in the morning. “It’s like a prisoner.”

I narrowed my eyes at her, looking her up and down like I was missing something. “You ain’t got no shackles on ya.”

She gave a little laugh. “Oh no. I’m fine now, but give it an hour or two and somebody will come to whoop my ass.”

“Ya just travel the forest and sneak off?” I asked her curiously.

She nodded. “We make camp and just wonder the country side. Until we come to a town, then we rob people, or trick them into giving us money.” She told me, obviously looking displeased with the arrangement.

“My brother would fit right in.” I told her.

“What about you, Daryl? What’s your story?” She asked me.

I shrugged. I didn’t know what she wanted me to say.

“C’mon then. I told you about me.” Layla said with a smile, like she was challenging me.

“Just some hick.” I told her, shrugging again.

She moved around on the rock so she was facing me instead of the flowing river. “Well why are you wandering the woods with a crossbow, but no game to show for it? Are you a bad hunter with bad luck, or a good hunter who doesn’t care today?”

“Don’t care.” I mumbled.

“And why don’t you?” She asked.

I looked up at her, taking in her appearance again. She looked innocent; far more innocent then I’d been in a long time. “Pa died. I’m glad, but I still see him in the house.”

“Ah, personal demons. The best kind.” She said, rolling her eyes with a smile. “To be fair, I’m trying to outrun mine too. I’m sure you got farther then I did.”

“You got demons?” I asked, feeling a bit taken back. Her tan legs were gorgeous and unmarred. Her face didn’t have any scars or pock marks. But if you looked a little harder, you could see in her eyes she wasn’t as innocent as I had originally pegged her to be.

She laid her arms out in her lap, palms up, showing me the insides of your forearms. They were covered in scars, running across, then up and down. Some looked smooth, like they’ve been done with a sharp knife; while others looked jagged like the skin might’ve torn, but healed quickly. All of them were faded, as if they’d tried to blend in with the rest of her skin, but her body wouldn’t let them.

I gingerly took one of her arms in my fingers. Her skin was soft compared to mine. “Girl…” I started to trail off. “Who did it?” I asked, looking up at her.

She gave a sad smile, like if she didn’t smile, she was going to cry. “These are all my own handy work. I started when I was 13, when my parents tried to arrange a marriage for me. It didn’t work out for other reasons, but I liked the momentary release of it. I’m not very good at handling life, Daryl.”

The part of me that sounded like Merle roared up, calling her a freak and fuckin’ nutcase for carving herself up. Who did that to themselves? How could you think so low of yourself?

But I took pause. I was covered in scars too; I just hadn’t done it to myself. All of mine were inflicted because of the monster that lived in the bottom of any bottle my pa ever touched. Did that make me better than her, ‘cause I didn’t do mine to myself? Nah. I wasn’t no better than she was. The only difference between us was that she wanted hers and I never asked for mine.

“Got scars too.” I murmured, wondering if she’d hear me.

“You don’t have to show me.” She said, pulling her arms out of my hands and wrapping them around her middle. “I just… never showed them to anybody. I just wanted somebody to see them.”

“Mine… I ain’t done ‘em myself, but they’re scars anyways.” I told her quietly.

She looked over at me, watching me carefully. “You… didn’t do them yourself. So…” She trailed off, then her brown eyes darkened and she covered her mouth like she understood. “Daryl, someone beat you?”

I ducked my head, feeling shame flare in my chest as I moved away from her.

She grabbed my hand and her touch burned my skin, like I’d never be able to warm it up again if she let it go. I had never felt it before and it was the only thing stopping me from storming off. I looked down at her fingers, wrapped around my hand.

“We don’t have to talk about it, I swear. I won’t ask anything and you don’t gotta tell me anything. Can you… can you please just sit a while longer?” She asked, sadness filling those gorgeous brown eyes.

If nothing, I could sit with her, even if we didn’t talk. I moved to sit back on the rock next to her, close enough to know she was there, but not close enough to touch.

Layla pulled her legs up close to her, looking like she was trying to make herself as small as possible.

“Where ya from?” I asked, quietly.

She smiled at the normal question. “I was scared you were gonna ask if I come here often. I’m from up North. The main gypsy camp is near Colorado City, Montana. All the gypsy babies are born there, then we spread out after that. We go back there once a year in the summer, and then travel the rest of the year.”

I nodded, glancing at the sound of a rock being dropped into the river. A deer at the top of the ditch froze, seeing us. He shook out his head like the river wasn’t worth it if we were there and he wandered away downstream.

“Do you come out here a lot?” She asked quietly. “I didn’t mean it to sound like a pickup line. I was just… you seem at peace out here, like it’s healing you or something.”

I nodded slowly. “Only good skill my pa ever gave me was hunting. It’s a gift, I guess, since it’s the only way I can get away from him now.”

“Layla!” A strong, male voice called, echoing off the water below us.

She gasped, looking up at the sides of the river. “You have to go. You have to. If they find you with me, you’ll die. You have to hide.” She told me urgently. I was going to argue, tell her I could take on anybody when I saw how she was pleading with me.

I nodded, hopping off the rock, wading through the water and ducking under an outcropping, hiding from her view and the view of anyone that might come after her.

“I-I-I’m sorry, Genesis. I just wanted to sit by the river.” She choked out, obviously terrified of whoever splashed into the water.

“Ya been gone almost a day. Thought you could just sneak off and escape?” He asked with an authority I thought she might have heard a lot.

“No, no! I’d never try to escape. Genesis, you know I love the people. I’d never dishonor the people by running away.” She told him.

He was silent and I wanted to poke my head out to see what was going on.

“Genesis…” Layla’s voice was begging him. “Please… Please don’t. I-I-I swear, I don’t want to leave the people. You don’t have to-“

“Shut up, you blathering fool. You’re worthless and you add no value to the people. You don’t steal or lie, you never trick or con the white fools. You are no better than them and therefore, you are useless to the people. You are gypsy by birth and I will make your death quick.” The man spoke, his deep voice echoing off the dirt walls. A scream pierced the air, making my blood run cold.

My eyes widened and I busted out of the little cave I was in, crossbow up, ready to shoot down the man who threatened the girl I had sat talking to.

But there was no one in the river bed…

No tall, strong man…

No innocent looking hippy girl…

For a moment, I wondered if I was part of a big practical joke, like those ones they play on the TV. I wondered if Merle had set somebody up to this.

But it couldn’t have been Merle. He was on lockdown in the state pen and he wasn’t much for jokes; he’d rather pay somebody to jump you and mug you blind. That was his idea of a practical joke.

And the way the sounds echoed around this river bottom, there was no way they woulda been able to get out of here without me hearing them. She’d screamed… I’d heard that for sure. I could still hear it in my head, banging around the sides of my skull.

I shook my head, leaning down and splashing water on my face. I stood back up, looking around. Nothing. Nobody else in sight. I decided to climb out of the river bed, searching both sides for a pair of tracks that didn’t belong to a deer or me.

After an hour, I gave up. I’d trampled up and down so much; my tracks were the only thing around. Frustration ran through me. How could somebody, even two somebodies, up and get out of a river without me hearing nothing from either of them? It wasn’t possible in my head that was for damn sure.

I wandered home, feeling like I’d been left in a daze. I didn’t know what had happened to the girl; other than I knew I’d heard her scream. Nobody screams like that for fun. But she’d disappeared and I couldn’t find her, so maybe… maybe she hadn’t been there?

Nah, that wasn’t possible either. She’d grabbed my hand. I’d felt her touch. It warmed me.

I couldn’t stand to look at the house, so out of desperation and wanting information, I drove into town. I stopped at the library and I could understand the look of surprise on the lady’s face behind the counter as I pushed open the door. Ain’t no Dixon go to the library and talk about it again. But I knew if she worked here, she was damn smarter than me and I needed help.

“Hello. Can I help you?” She asked cautiously. Her gray hair was tied up with a ribbon and her glasses were hooked to a beaded string that wrapped around her neck.

I nodded, ducking my head to mentally tell myself not to be too loud. “Need some information. Was wonderin’ if you could help.”

She smiled a little. “Well, I’d be glad to do my best.”

“You ever heard of some gypsies runnin’ through here? The nomad kind?” I asked her.

She thought about it for a moment, tapping her lips while she considered. “There was a band of gypsies that came through, oh, about fifteen years ago.” She told me.

I narrowed my eyes at her. The hell was she talkin’ ‘bout, fifteen years ago? “But ain’t none come through recent? Like today?”

She smiled and shook her head. “They robbed quite a few people and there was even a murder involved with them, so the sheriffs put up a warning that anybody in the county were to see one, they were to report it immediately. The order is still in effect today.”

A bell inside my head went off when she said murder and I thought about it long and hard for a second. “What about that murder?”

“Well, here. Let me just pull it up and you can read it yourself.” She said, moving to one of the four computers the library had. She searched for the police reports and then pulled up two windows, one of the newspaper clipping about the murder and another of the official police report.

“She was killed in Wilkinson River. Some say that if you’re in a troubling place in life and you stumble across the river, you’ll see her sunbathing on the rocks.” She said, as if she were silently asking if I’d seen her.

“Thanks.” I said quietly, sliding into the chair in front of the computer.

 She watched me for a moment before she wandered back to the front desk to help somebody else who came in.

Reading the article was hard. The newspaper didn’t have a picture of the dead body, but it did show a picture of her that somebody had caught a day or two before her body was found. It told how she was a gypsy, traveling through the area. She was twenty-four when she was found dead in the Wilkinson River. They said the body might never have been found, except there was a few hikers out that day and they heard her scream, then saw a big man over her body.

The man ran off into the woods and was never seen from again. The gypsies moved camp before the hikers could get back to town to tell the cops what happened. Nobody had seen them since. The date said she’d died in 1998.

The picture struck something in me. She was smiling; looking like she was enjoying the life she’d been given. I could even see one of her scars in the photo, the way the light caught it and I was caught in this overwhelming feeling of loss for a person I’d never known.

I clicked to the police report and it said most of the same things the newspaper had, just more legal like than people pleasing. The police report had a picture of her dead body though, lying in the creek. The way her face looked, frozen as the water moved around her head, she almost had a smile and grief flooded my system.

I leaned back in the chair, running a hand over my face. I couldn’t believe she’d been murdered. Part of me wanted to cry.

So when a hand touched my shoulder, I jumped. The librarian looked a little concerned for me. “Are you alright, sonny?”

I nodded, looking back at the computer screen. “Yeah.”

“You saw her, didn’t you?” She asked kindly. Her tone told me she wasn’t judging me, wasn’t calling my crazy. She was just curious.

I nodded slowly. “She… she touched my hand… I thought… I thought she was real…” I told her quietly, as to not be overheard by anyone else.

She nodded, and it made me think of how my grandpa did, before he’d died when I was six. He was always intent on whatever you had to say, no matter what it was. When she noticed I was done, she gave me a kind smile. “She just needed to know somebody could still care about her. Everyone needs compassion and when you live an entire life without ever seeing it, it’s hard to let go of the idea that it exists somewhere.”

I took a breath, looking back at the screen of the pretty girl who was happy and smiling for a picture a stranger took of her. “Thanks for the help.” I told her quietly, closing the windows on the computer and standing from the chair, making my way back to my truck. Getting behind the steering wheel was hard. I didn’t feel like I could operate the rig.

Thinking back on it was hard too. I hadn’t known her but fifteen minutes when I’d heard her screaming in the bottom of the river, and if I understood the librarian, I’d given her more compassion than she’d seen her whole life.

Without thinking about it, or meaning to, I pointed the truck back to the house. Parking it, I didn’t worry about pullin’ the keys, or grabbin’ anything. I just walked, climbing fallen trees and ducking around rocks and limbs. I knew it wasn’t a long walk, but I had to know…

Breaking into the clearing was a relief, like taking a clean breath after smelling something bad. I looked at the river bed and pushed my hope down, out of my throat. I swallowed and tasted bile. I moved forward slowly, looking down the bank into the river, near the big rocks.

There she was, long legs and a pretty headband, sitting on a big flat rock, soaking up the remains of the summer sun. She still sat like she hadn't heard me, with her back to me. She splashed her foot in the river and smiled same as before. She turned, and smiled, like she knew exactly where I had been standing.

"Are you going to stand there all day?" She asked.

I wasn't startled, like I was this morning. "Should I be doin' somethin' else?" I called back, half expecting her to disappear like before.

She shrugged, lazily laying back on the rock. "Well, you could come down here so I don't have to yell."

I didn't say anything, slowly falling into the ditch the river sat in. I moved towards her rock and she smiled up at me.

"Do you know the name of this river?" She asked.

I couldn't help but take in her every detail, trying to commit it to memory. I didn’t know how I felt that she didn't remember me. "The Wilkinson."

She watched me like she wanted to say something, but she held it back. "You'd be correct, sir."

"Why ya care the name?" I asked her, still standing.

She patted the rock next to her, signaling that I should sit down. "You look familiar." She told me, watching me for a long moment.

I smirked, ducking my head. "Nah, ain't never seen ya before in my life."

 

* * *

 

Every time I went out hunting after that and ended up by the Wilkinson, I'd look in to see if she was still there; if maybe she'd move on. And every time, she was layin' on that big flat rock in the middle of the river, and every time she'd call to me to come sit with her and every time I did...


End file.
